


Staring

by Keiraskinder



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiraskinder/pseuds/Keiraskinder
Summary: Boris is trying to make peace with his own thoughts and feelings. He fails.





	Staring

**Author's Note:**

> This is not about real people.  
> I own nothing.  
> Please do not repost.  
> Not a native speaker  
> Unbetaed

It became their tradition, sort of. Every day after work - which would normally be around 10 p.m. – they would have dinner in the hotel restaurant. Valery would usually be thoughtful and sad, Boris loud and either very angry or very cheerful, and Tarakanov – reserved, displaying little or close to no emotions. Real General, that guy.

They would mostly discuss work, of course. What’s done, what’s not, what they need and what they plan to do. But sometimes, more often than not lately, they would also talk about normal life. The one they left behind. The one they used to have, eons ago, before the Wormwood star fell. They would tell stories, give advises, sometimes even share a joke and have a good laugh. They would drink and smoke as if everything was normal.

They came to understand each other from half-word, from half – glance. They came to trust each other on DNA level. Because they felt like they were the only permanent inhabitants of this cursed poisoned land, and they had to trust each other to survive. 

Because that’s what radiation does to people.

And it was not bad, too, their evening chats. Boris enjoyed it a lot. The only thing that has been gnawing at him lately, was Valery’s newly acquired habit of looking at him. Well, not just looking but… _Staring_ almost.

They would always get the same table, Boris and Valery on one side, Tarakanov on the other side. And whenever Boris was looking at Tarakanov or elsewhere, Valery would do his staring thing. 

Sometimes it drives Boris crazy. What’s so interesting about my face, Boris thinks. Do I have something on it? He would turn to Valery abruptly, and Valery would immediately look in the opposite direction, face guilty. That was usually rather comical because there was this same empty wall he was facing. They always took the same table. 

Sometimes Boris feels amused and … well, pleased deep inside. 

That night was no different. Boris was discussing with Tarakanov the next day, they were going to send some more men to do measurements in surrounding area.  
\- And if they are back by 6 p.m., Valery would have enough time to calculate and give us results before midnight. Right, Valera?... Valera?...

Boris looks at the man, and Valery is immediately studying the wall. His ears are pink. He slowly turns back to them.

\- Err… Yes… Yes, absolutely. I will do that.  
\- You look tired, Valery, - Tarakanov points out. Valery does.  
\- Yes, I am. I am. If you will excuse me. I will see you in the morning, comrades.

He nods awkwardly and walks to the elevator. His pace is not exactly stable. Boris watches him fondly. That impossible nerd. Valery pushes the button of the elevator, and then – of course – looks back at Boris. Meeting his amused stare, he immediately turns back to the button.

His ears are crimson.

Boris and Tarakanov spend some more time at the table. Boris likes to tell stories, Tarakanov likes to listen. They have a good time. They drink too much probably, but it already seems perfectly normal. How else are you supposed to survive this hell? 

It’s already 1 a.m. so they probably do need some sleep, after all.

The waitress brings the bill. It’s always the same girl, her name is Katya. She is 29 and she is not married. Today, she is wearing a blue dress. Nice one, but it doesn’t suit the weather at all. That’s her best outfit, Boris guesses. She is also wearing bright-red lipstick. Started wearing it the day General Tarakanov arrived at the hotel.

\- Would you like anything else, comrades?  
\- No Katya, that would be all for tonight.

Boris puts the money on the table. Tarakanov doesn’t look up. Katya doesn’t leave. She is standing there, biting her lower lip, looking at Tarakanov desperately. Clutching at her white apron.

\- If you… If you would like anything to be served in your room, I would… Be happy to help, - she says. Her voice is shaking a bit.

Brave little soul, Boris thinks. He likes this girl. So determined. Probably one of those who read too many books about princes and princesses in their childhood. No doubt she was always dreaming about this knight on a white horse who would come to Pripyat one day. He would find her, fall in love with her and take her away. To Kiev, to Moscow, to the Moon – doesn’t matter. Away. And now that the knight has indeed arrived – the handsome General – she is trying her best to grab that chance.

\- No, thank you, - Tarakanov says in his mild voice.

He adds 5 rubles tip to the money on the table.  
Katya fidgets for a moment, still looking at him desperately, then turns around on her heels and all but runs back to her bar.

The money is left on the table.

\- You could make the girl happy, - Boris grumbles on their way to the elevator.  
\- I am married, Boris, - Tarakanov says calmly.

Boris chuckles.  
\- Well it’s not like she wanted to get married to you, huh?  
\- They always do.

Boris cannot think of a witty answer, and elevator arrives. Boris pushes “5”. That’s his floor. And Valery’s floor, too, his room is just few doors from Boris’. Tarakanov’s room is on the 7th.

\- You could make the girl happy, - Boris repeats stubbornly, as the elevator starts moving.  
\- You could also make… someone happy, - Tarakanov says quietly. He is studying his shoes.

Boris has no idea what the hell is he supposed to answer to that. 

And it’s his floor anyway.

In the silence of his room, Boris takes his jacket off. Tarakanov’s words are stuck on permanent replay inside his head. You could make him happy, Tarakanov said. No, wait. Not “him”. Someone, that’s what Tarakanov said. You could make someone happy.

The thing is, Boris is not particularly good at making anyone happy.

When he was around twenty, he used to go to these summer camps. Students would come there to help collective farms with minor tasks. Pack potatoes and carrots, this sort of thing. And in the evenings, they would gather in their tents. Drinking, laughing, playing guitar, playing cards. It was a good fun. 

Boris used to be… Well, some people used to find him attractive. When he was young, that is. There was this boy with black eyes in his camp that summer. And he was _staring_ at Boris the whole time. Just like Valery does these days. As if everything Boris did or said was so wonderful and fascinating. As if Boris was special.

And one night, when Boris was particularly drunk, when everyone left his tent, he finally said it. Stay.

He still remembers how those black eyes suddenly lit up with sheer delight and endless gratitude. And happiness, yes. The boy was so tender, so eager to please. His mouth was hot and wet. He was willing to give, and give, and give, and he was just hoping that Boris would consent to take. He was repeating Boris’ name like a prayer, over and over again.

It was probably the best night in Boris’ life, if you come to think of it.

And the worst morning. Boris felt terrible. Scared, mostly. What if someone found out? What if the boy would tell someone? It was a crime, you know. He would get expelled from the Comsomol, he would never belong to the Party, he would lose any prospects of a career, he would be sent to jail, for God’s sake! His life in a mincer. 

So he went straight to the camp administration and explained that he needed to leave immediately, for his mother was very ill.  
He never saw the black-eyed boy again.

Time passed, he got married, made a career. Life was good. It’s just that sometimes – very rarely though – he would meet some man who would… _stare_ at him. Just like that. Boris always knew. He did not like that because he would get this funny feeling inside him. He was afraid of that feeling. He was afraid of those men.

And when Valery Legasov first entered the room, Boris immediately knew.  
He was right, of course.

\- You could make him so happy, - General Tarakanov suddenly said inside his head. – Just imagine his face when you would knock on his door.  
He is waiting for you, you know that. He is waiting every single night. Not sleeping. It’s not far, just few doors from here. Think of his eyes. How they would light up with happiness and endless gratitude. He would smile, too, awkwardly at first. He has lovely smile, Valera. You would touch his face - just one touch - and he would already be shaking with want. That’s how much he desires you. You know that don’t you? 

He would want to kiss every inch of your body. He would want to go down on you, and it will be clumsy but still good, so very good. And when you would finally claim him and make him yours, he will repeat your name like a prayer, over and over again.

\- NO! – Boris screams at the imaginary Tarakanov. – Stop saying that!

He cannot believe Tarakanov is actually saying all these awful things to him. Seemed to be such a decent guy, that general.

\- Don’t you think he deserves a little happiness? – Tarakanov asks angrily. – For everything he is doing here? He will die soon, you know. We all will.

\- You don’t understand, - Boris whispers. – Look at me. What can I offer him? One night stand? Then what? I am an empty man, dead man, career party man. I have nothing to offer him. Absolutely nothing.

\- That’s not true, - Tarakanov says calmly. – And you know it. You are the whole world to him. You can make him very happy, Boris. And how about yourself? Don’t YOU deserve some happiness, too? You’ve been denying yourself for so long. Don’t you think it’s time to start telling the truth?

\- What truth? - Boris whispers.

\- You want that. You want him. You can afford to be happy, Boris. You are already happy with him in your fantasies aren’t you? What are you doing every single night in this narrow lonely bed, when no one can see and hear you?!

You are insane, Boris thinks. It’s totally different things – to _imagine_ and to actually _do_ stuff. It’s not natural, it’s not legal. Wait, General, do you honestly think that the Deputy Chairman would risk his _career_ – his _life_ – for some… some awkward _staring_ nerd??

\- Yes. – Tarakanov says with absolute certainty. – Yes, I am sure of it.

\- NO! – Boris shouts. – SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!

After that, Tarakanov is silent. He is a brave man, military man. Why would he bother talking to a coward, really.

Boris finally turns off the lights and goes to bed.  
But he will not sleep this night. Again.


End file.
